


Status Quo

by pancake_surprise



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Childhood Friends, Enemies to Lovers, Getting Together, Hockey, Ice Skating, M/M, figure skating, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29593722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pancake_surprise/pseuds/pancake_surprise
Summary: Sakusa and Atsumu hate each other and not a soul knows why. When circumstances beyond their control force them to work together, what could go wrong?A figure skater x hockey, enemies to lovers AU.SakuAtsu Fluff Week Day 9: Figure Skating AU
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 35
Kudos: 253





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sifuhotman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifuhotman/gifts).



> hello eve, lovely to have you here. i sincerely hope you enjoy your stay and hopefully laugh a little while you're with us today. thank you for popping up with your little gremlin dn in my dms all those months ago. i appreciate you a lot and hope this makes you laugh a bit. 
> 
> [playlist for Status Quo](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6dpXdoDcOEdipAtKLcuzxb?si=81afe879bbec4bb8)
> 
> disclaimer: this au is heavily based on my experiences as a figure skater in the united states and isn't meant to be anything other than a funny au of those experiences

The rink is Atsumu’s happy place. Has been since his parents threw him and Osamu into ‘Learn to Skate' when they were 4 years old. Well, in all fairness, that first day was rough for Atsumu and Osamu both. That is, at least for what he remembers of it. Despite all the falls on their asses and the purple bruises that littered their knees the following day, Atsumu and Osamu were both itching to get back to the ice as soon as their nasty, beat-to-all-hell, rental skates were untied. 

Two months later, they graduated from 'Snow Plow Sam' 1, following it up by blowing through 'Snow Plow Sam' 2, 3, and 4. No matter the skill, swizzles, snowplow stops, dips, one foot glides, rocking horses, two foot hops, they conquered them all. The rest is history. 

Fast forward 18 years and Atsumu is still here. He’s built himself a home here in this rink complete with his skating family and all. He skates and competes with his best friends—Suna, Oikawa, Ennoshita, Kita, and Aran. And, even though Osamu hung up his skates a few years ago, he still hangs around the rink often and sets up shop at competitions to sell onigiri.

It was all fine and dandy until _he_ showed up. Worst enemies since the second grade on ice and off, an enemy to rival all enemies. He’s not exaggerating here. This guy is _the worst._

Leave it to Sakusa fucking Kiyoomi to ruin Atsumu’s _paradise._ Who does he think he is, accepting a position on the hockey team at _Atsumu’s_ rink? With his stupid frown that’s permanently etched on his face and intense gaze and pretty—er—weird hair. 

Atsumu thought he left that guy in the past. Back in the day, Sakusa was in the same ‘Learn to Skate’ class as Atsumu and Osamu. Atsumu and Sakusa were best friends until _the incident._ The details of the incident are a little fuzzy these days—it has been nearly 15 years after all—but the details don’t matter when the living, breathing problem is right in front of him and very much still the asshole Atsumu remembers. 

Atsumu is nothing if not petty when it matters. 

So Sakusa Kiyoomi ruined his paradise by joining the house hockey team, no problem, it just means Atsumu will ruin _his_ paradise by any means necessary. 

But luckily for Atsumu, Sakusa is a pretty easy guy to rile up. Atsumu doesn’t have to do much more than exist and Sakusa Kiyoomi is already raring to go, mouth twisted into a frown and face red, from the cold or because he’s pissed is anyone’s guess. 

“Miya!” 

Atsumu smirks and comes to a gentle stop. Sakusa is right on time. Well, almost. Atsumu hears the telltale signs of hockey skates scraping rapidly across the ice, and Atsumu turns just in time to be greeted with an angry Sakusa Kiyoomi. 

Sakusa comes to an abrupt hockey stop, showering Atsumu in fine snow—the thin layer of ice that turns to soft flakes from the force of blade against ice—that immediately starts to melt into his worn terry cloth joggers. “Omi-kun! What can I do ya for?”

Sakusa jabs a finger at Atsumu’s chest. “You can keep your toe picks off. My. Ice.” 

“So, it's yer ice now? I don’t remember getting that memo.” Atsumu bends at the knees, pushing back to skate circles around Sakusa, chest tall, right foot tucking under the left in tight backwards crossovers. 

In an ideal world, Sakusa would take the bait and turn to follow Atsumu while they talked until he got so dizzy he would have to take a breather. 

Unfortunately, Sakusa never takes the bait. To Atsumu’s utter frustration, Sakusa stays rooted to the same spot, looking wholly unimpressed with Atsumu’s antics. 

Sakusa nods toward the white board that hangs just outside the plexiglass rink door. “Every single day—every _single day_ —you know that from 4 until 9 the ice is for hockey. It’s been that way for _years._ 4 to 9 is hockey and hockey only. Hock-ey. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s 4:07. Now. Get. Off.” Sakusa punctuates every word with a jab of the finger. 

Atsumu is _more than aware_ of the time. Osamu and Suna say Atsumu riles Sakusa up for attention but Atsumu knows the truth. In reality, it’s just because riling up Sakusa is one of his favorite parts of the day. It’s like an afternoon cup of coffee. Rejuvenating. And what better way to rile him up than by lingering on Sakusa’s precious hockey ice time.

“Yer losing yer touch, Omi-kun. It took ya three extra minutes today to get on my case. Better work on it next time.” 

Lazily, he skates past Sakusa and over to the boards that make up the hockey penalty box to grab his Kiss and Cry Angels™ tote, stuffed full with his water bottle, box of tissues, extra gloves. He snatches his matching neon pink skate guards from the bag, coasting backwards with the occasional swizzle to maintain speed.

“Bye! Don’t miss me too much! Have a good practice! Maybe knock out a tooth or something!” He blows Sakusa a kiss, slips the guards over his blades, and saunters off to the warm room. 

  
  


Osamu peers through the warm room windows, grateful to be in the safe haven of the one heated room in the rink while watching Sakusa’s Atsumu-provoked tantrum go down for the third time in as many days. 

“I hate them,” he mutters, tearing his eyes away from the spectacle at last. “Do ya think they’ll ever stop this shit?” 

“At this point, I think we need to give up hope that they’ll ever stop this weird mating ritual,” Suna says with a sigh. 

Osamu groans. Suna is right. 

Suna finishes unlacing one skate and sets to work on the other, deft fingers tugging at the black cotton laces. “You could say something to them. Actually, someone probably should.” Suna rips the skate from his foot, letting it fall to the floor with a loud thunk. “One of these days, they’re going to make out right there on the ice, then what are we supposed to do? I’ll have to bleach my eyes.” 

Osamu bends to retrieve the skate, carefully wiping down either side of the blade before slipping on the fleece covers.

Osamu doesn’t skate anymore. After securing 1st place in junior men's singles right out from under Atsumu’s nose in 2011, he hung up his skates for good. He was 16 years old and ready to see what the world had to offer outside of the dank rink locker room. That was 6 years ago and he doesn’t regret the decision one bit.

He tucks the now-dry skate into Suna’s bag and waits for the next one. 

This, the post-ice ritual, was strangely his favorite thing about skating. He likes the methodical process that comes after getting off the ice: rapidly unlacing his skates, ignoring the burn of the laces as they brush through his fingers like a match against paper, tugging off the hard plastic guards to carefully dry the blade and boot, and finally slipping on the gentle fleece or terry cloth soft guards that protect the ridiculously expensive blades from dust and condensation. 

It’s the same orderly process that drew him to cooking. Or, more specifically, drew him to the art of onigiri. But that’s another story. Because today he’s here essentially playing the role of Skate Mom, AKA skate caretaker, to his boyfriend, Suna Rintarou.

Osamu wrinkles his nose. “We have,” Osamu reminds him. “In case you forgot, every plan and intervention we’ve cooked up over the past two years has failed. Their love-hate thing has only gotten worse.” 

“There’s still a chance that Komori’s plan will work,” Suna says as he slides the silicone Bunga Pad off his ankle, holding it up to the light. It jiggles and smells absolutely rank. 

“I hate that shit,” Osamu says about the silicone gel ankle sleeve used to prevent chafing and bruising so often caused by figure skates. While there are a few things he misses about skating, _this_ is not one of them.

Suna jiggles it some more, and Osamu gags. It’s just a little too _flesh-like_ for comfort. 

“Yeah, well I like having ankles that aren’t bruised to hell so suck it up and take it.” He holds it out for Osamu who reluctantly takes the slippery, sweaty, gel pad and shoves it into Suna’s bag too. 

“Yer positive there ain’t anything else ya can use instead of those smelly, slimy ankle tubes?” 

“Nope,” Suna says, popping the ‘p’. “Bunga Pads or bust.” 

The door swings open and Atsumu saunters into the warm room, whistling Marina and the Diamonds’ “Bubblegum Bitch” horribly off tune. 

“Well, if it ain’t my darlin’ dearest brother, and my best friend in the whole world, Suna Rintarou,” he says as he takes a seat. 

Osamu rolls his eyes. “What do ya want from us, Tsumu?” 

“I don’t know what yer talkin’ about. I don’t want anything. Just glad yer here is all, ya know how much I value yer input.” 

“Input on _what exactly?_ That’s a load of—” 

The door to the warm room swings open and all three heads turn in tandem toward the sound. Sakusa Kiyoomi stands in the entryway like the boogieman of childrens’ nightmares, a hulking figure made of hockey pads. 

“ _Miya.”_ Sakusa takes a step forward, moving out the way of the door as it slams shut again. 

“Aw, Omi-kun, did ya miss me already?”

Osamu and Suna share _a look._

“Was _this_ your doing?” He drops a handful of hockey pucks onto the floor at Atsumu’s feet, each one painted neon green, yellow, or pink.

Atsumu draws his lips into a pout and fixes Sakusa with his most innocent stare. “Who? Me?” 

Sakusa sighs as if he is one man against an entire army and not a few vandalized hockey pucks. “Stop. Fucking. With. Our. Stuff.” 

“Don’t be so dramatic Omi-kun!” Atsumu says, bright eyed and over enthusiastic. “Now they’ll be easier to see on the ice!” 

“So it _was_ you.” 

Atsumu shrugs. “For once, it actually wasn’t me. But, I’ll admit, spray painting the hockey pucks neon colors is genius and I sure wish that _I_ thought of it. Kudos to whoever did.” 

Atsumu stands. Even with the extra height his skates afford him, Sakusa still has a few centimeters over him. 

“Don’t lie to me, Miya, I know it was you.” 

“Unless ya have some proof, I don’t know how yer gonna prove it was me.” 

Atsumu crosses his arms and takes a step forward. Sakusa takes a step back. 

“Ew, they’re even more disgusting up close.” Suna eyes the spectacle, a slight frown tugging on his lips. “Do you think this is going to work?” he whispers to Osamu. 

“Huh?” Osamu says louder than he should. 

Suna smacks a hand over his eyes. Pained. “Osamu, _the plan_. The plan we made with Komori. Komori’s plan.The plan for Sakusa and Atsumu.” 

“Oohh, _that_ plan.” Osamu shrugs. “Hell if I know,” he whispers then louder, “Sure is a weird tango they’re dancin’.” Osamu heaves Suna’s bag over his shoulder and nods at the door, silently saying _let’s get out of here before the shit show starts in earnest._

Across the room, Atsumu takes another step. Sakusa steps back. 

“You can say that again,” Suna says. Suna, never one to miss out on any drama, turns around one last time in the doorway to snap a picture. Atsumu is gaining ground, stepping into Sakusa’s space and pushing him closer and closer to the trophy case with each stride. 

“Better watch the case,” Suna shouts over his shoulder before following Osamu out the door but the warning falls on deaf ears. 

Atsumu takes a step. Sakusa takes a step.

Off the ice, Atsumu has never been known for his spatial awareness. Despite Suna’s warning, Sakusa is too caught up in Atsumu’s eyes—wait. _No._ He’s too caught up in Atsumu’s _antics_ to notice that with each step they are teetering closer and closer to danger. A few more steps and suddenly they find themselves up close and personal not only with each other but, more importantly, with the glass trophy case. 

Unfortunately, this goes unnoticed by both Sakusa and Atsumu as they are both a little too caught up in each to notice as Atsumu takes a final step forward and Sakusa leans back and... _right_ into the trophy case. 

The door to the warm room opens just as Sakusa’s shoulder collides with the case, shaking the shelves and threatening to topple the trophies shoved haphazardly on top. 

Atsumu watches them wobble back and forth and waits with bated breath, praying to any god that will listen that they don’t fall. By some miracle, the trophies don’t fall. Atsumu and Sakusa sigh but their relief is short-lived. 

Too caught up in their weird anger-fueled dance, neither of them realized who had slipped in the door as Osamu and Suna slipped out until it’s too late. 

Someone sighs. Tired. Pained. Long suffering. “Why the hell is it always you two?” 

“Huh?” Atsumu says. “I didn’t even do anything this time!” 

“Nope.” Meian, the rink director, crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“But—” Sakusa tries. 

“No, I’m done. First you two broke the vending machine after fighting over, what? Who got the last Pocari Sweat when you know that we have entire cases in the back? Then there was the time Atsumu _glued_ Sakusa’s locker shut. And don’t get me started on the time you two argued over, what was it, the temperature of the ice? Now you almost shattered the damn trophy case. Do you know how expensive those are? Trust me, I’m the one who ordered _and_ put it together, they’re stupid expensive.” 

“You two need to learn how to get along with each other. And lucky for you, someone recently gave me the _perfect_ idea to facilitate just that. I didn’t want to pull this card but you’ve left me no choice. If you want to keep skating here then you’re going to co-teach a 'Learn to Skate' class until you’re best friends.” 

Meian turns on his heels and marches out the door without giving Atsumu or Sakusa a chance to respond, too done with their bullshit to care. 

Time stands still. Sakusa and Atsumu share a look, disbelief on their faces. The moment passes, and they both go scrambling after Meian. 

Atsumu’s heart drops into his stomach. Teach? A class? With _Sakusa Kiyoomi?_ His Mortal Enemy™? 

Absolutely not. 

“Wait!” Atsumu calls. 

“Meian!” Sakusa says. 

“Zip it. I have had it up to here—” Meian stops, whirls on them then throws a hand into the air, rolling up onto his tip toes and all. “—with you two. I’m going to say it!” 

“Oooooh,” Suna crows. “You’re in trouble.” 

Atsumu makes a face at his brother and Suna when he realizes they’re only a few feet behind Meian. Watching. Waiting. Taunting. Ugh. 

“Shut up, Sunarin! And put yer phone away.” 

“Nah, someone has to record this for posterity.” 

Meian seethes, his face shifting from red to purple. “Suna Rintarou, if you think you aren’t next on my list—”

Suna pockets the phone, slings his bag over his shoulder, then grabs Osamu by the arm and runs. “Bye!” he says without looking back. He cackles. Asshole. “And good luck. You’re going to need it.” 

“Where was I?” Meian’s attention snaps back to them. “Oh, right.” He rolls back up onto his tip toes. “I have had it up to _here_ with you, Miya Atsumu and Sakusa Kiyoomi. Since you can’t figure out how to get along on your own, I guess it’s up to me to figure out a solution. Unless you want me to take this to the rink board.” 

Atsumu swallows. Atsumu has had a few run-ins with the ice rink’s board of directors in the unending battle over scheduling, ice time, and the ideal hardness of the ice. They were not pleasant experiences. 

Anything, and he means _anything_ , but the rink board. Devils and angels alike run when the rink board is concerned.

“ _Both_ of you will start teaching the Wednesday evening 'Learn to Skate' class. Be grateful I’m not making you wake up bright and early on Sundays for the other one. And you’ll be teaching _together._ ”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Atsumu says. “I can’t do that! I can’t teach a bunch of little kids! I gotta prepare for the competition! You know I’ve been working on a new short _and_ freestyle for next season!” 

“And I have practice. I can’t waste time on some dumb kids, _”_ Sakusa growls.

“Look at you two.” Meian grins. “Already agreeing with each other! Now, why don’t you get started on your lesson plans and do some more agreeing with each other. Maybe on whether you’ll start with dips or forward marching with your ‘Snowplow Sam’ 2’s.” 

Most people know the 'Learn to Skate' program for its core classes—’Snowplow Sam’, for kids under the age of 6, and ‘Basic Skills’, for kids 6+ to learn the fundamentals of skating necessary for any type of skating activity. But, the 'Learn to Skate' program has so much more to offer than just the fundamentals. For the budding hockey player there is ‘Learn to Play’. Figure skating jumps, tricks, and spins are taught in ‘Free Skate’. For adults new to the ice there is ‘Adult Learn to Skate'. And that’s not to mention all the specialty classes and tracks like ‘Ice Dancing’, ‘Adaptive Skating’, ‘Pairs’, ‘Artistry in Motion’, ‘Theater on Ice’ and more. 

“Snowplow Sam’! We can’t even have a regular 'Learn to Skate' class? Whose teachin’ Basics 5? I want that one! At least they’re starting to learn interesting stuff!” 

Meian glances at his clipboard. “Sorry. No can do. Oikawa is on Basics 5 this week.” 

Atsumu groans. _Of course_ he is. Would it be too much to ask for the universe to give him a break? 

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to put me in a ‘Learn to Play’ class?” Sakusa wrings his hands. “After all, I do play _hockey.”_

Meian grins. “No, I’m more than confident in my current placements. Like I said, better run along and start on those lesson plans. Don’t want to waste any time!” 

Atsumu shudders as Meian turns on his heels and stalks back to the office. “Whatever. Come on, Omi-kun.” 

Sakusa rounds on him. “Stop calling me that!” 

“Looks like we’re—” Atsumu gags. “—partners now.” 

“Ew. Absolutely not.” Sakusa sniffs like the obnoxious brat he isn’t ashamed to admit he is. He has _standards._

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Atsumu says through gritted teeth, “but we don’t have a choice. Either we teach a bunch of snot nosed brats to skate or I have to find a new rink and you have to find a new team.”

“I’m not doing it.” Sakusa stamps his foot and everything. Yes, he’s a fully grown adult. No, he doesn’t care. 

“We both have big seasons coming up. Next year is an Olympic year. It’s not the time for either of us to get on the wrong side of the—” Atsumu pauses. A shudder runs through his entire body and his voice drops to a whisper. “—the rink board.” 

  
  


'Learn to Skate' starts promptly at 6:42pm on Wednesday evenings. It’s the stupidest time frame either Atsumu or Sakusa, or frankly anyone for that matter, has ever heard of. When asked why 6:42, any rink employee—past, present, or future—simply shrugs and asks if there is anything else they can help with. 

Komori leans against the wall watching Atsumu and Sakusa’s disastrous attempt at teaching begin. He pities the children who will have to deal with _that_ for their first ‘Learn to Skate’ class of the season. 

“Would you look at what the cat dragged in,” Komori coos as the door swings open to reveal Osamu and Suna. “You sure do hang around here a lot—” Komori waggles his eyebrows and gets up in Osamu’s face. “—for someone who claims to have left the skating world 6 years ago, Osamu.”

Osamu swats him away. “I’m here for the same reason as you—“ He nods toward Sakusa and Atsumu who are already bickering over the proper way to tie rec skates. “—to watch the show.”

“Ah, yes.” Komori grins. “My favorite channel. I hear this is supposed to be a particularly good episode.” 

“We should have brought popcorn,” Suna says, watching as Atsumu nearly trips over himself trying to get to the next kiddo in line for skates before Sakusa. 

“Would ya believe those idiots are on track t’ go to nationals?” Osamu pauses, silently counting on his fingers. “And shit for the third year in a row?” 

Komori swipes at a non-existent tear. “Sometimes I can’t even believe it. They grow up so fast.” 

“Not fast enough,” Suna says, phone out to capture Sakusa and Atsumu’s fistfight over whose turn it is to re-tie the 4-year-old’s skate for the fifth time in as many minutes. “All the better for me though. Their last fight broke my 3 personal records on my YouTube channel. Speaking of—”

“Hold up.” Osamu holds up a hand. “Rewind.” He rounds on Komori. “What do ya mean ya can't believe it? You went to nationals too, yer on the same hockey team.”

“Not to mention, you're all but guaranteed a spot on the national team,” Suna adds. 

Komori shrugs. He doesn't play hockey to go to nationals, the Olympics, or anywhere else—he plays because where else is it normal to throw down and have a good old-fashioned brawl on ice? Or off ice. He isn’t picky. Even messing with his cousin, lovingly of course, is enough. 

“Those hockey pucks were yer doing, right?” Osamu says. “—a part of the latest plan?”

Komori winks, an unsettling grin on his face. “You know it.” 

“And this is supposed to change what?” 

Komori and Suna exchange a look, sighing in tandem. Osamu would be lying if he said it didn’t freak him out just a little bit.

“Were you even listening when we went over the plan last weekend?” 

Last weekend. Osamu thinks. And thinks. And thinks but comes up empty handed.

“Don’t strain anything by thinking too hard,” Suna says. 

Osamu shakes his head. “Nope. Not ringing a be—wait. Do ya mean when we were grabbing dinner?” Osamu vaguely remembers a conversation involving Atsumu and Sakusa that night. What that conversation involved is beyond him though. 

Suna blinks. “ _Yes.”_

“Well, it’s yer fault for tryin’ to tell me something important when I’m eatin’.” 

Suna sighs. Yes, to his chagrin, Suna does know better than that. Osamu is right. He cannot be held liable for the things he misses when there is food in front of him. God forbid anything come between Osamu and his dinner.

“Anyway,” says Komori. “The plan is simple. I’ve been fucking with Sakusa’s stuff all week and maybe I’ve been leaving hints that Atsumu was behind it all.” 

“O _-kay_ ,” Osamu says slowly. “And? How is that supposed to help anything? Won’t that just make the problem worse?” 

Komori smiles and it’s somehow even more evil than his smirk. “That’s the beauty of the plan. You know how they say ‘what goes up must come down’? It’s like that but instead it’s ‘what gets worse can only get better.’”

Osamu isn’t sure that Komori’s reasoning makes any sense and from the looks of it, Suna doesn’t either. But they’ve burned through so many plans that they’ve run out of letters in the alphabet to name their plans after and without success from any one plan. He’s not sure how much longer they can survive this weird, _are we enemies or are we??_ arc Sakusa and Atsumu have been stumbling through for the past two years. Like damn, just kiss already and let everyone else get some goddamn peace. Desperate times call for desperate measures. 

Komori continues. “For every time I mess with Sakusa’s stuff and imply that Atsumu did it, it is another chance for Sakusa to hunt down Atsumu. And every time Sakusa hunts down Atsumu is more time spent together.”

“Yeah,” Osamu says. “More time spent yellin’ at each other and drivin’ everyone else in this damn rink up the wall.” He nods toward Atsumu and Sakusa, still arguing over the damn skates. “Just look at them.” 

“I told ya, Omi-kun, ya shouldn’t loop the laces around the kiddo’s ankles! You should criss-cross back down the hooks until ya run out of lace.” 

Sakusa gestures to his own skates, laces looped thrice around the ankle of his Bauer™ hockey skates. “We do it all the time in hockey. I don’t see what the da—” He pauses, side-eyes the kiddo between them before continuing. “I don’t see what the _dang_ problem is.” 

“The _problem_ is that these aren’t hockey skates, they’re rec skates, duh.” 

Atsumu tries to push Sakusa out of the way but all he ends up achieving is brushing their hands together. Sakusa jumps, looking between their hands— _that are still touching by the way_ —and Atsumu. Atsumu pulls his hand back like he’s been burned. Nothing to see here. Nope. 

“Miya, I swear I will—” 

“Um,” the kiddo says, wringing their hands. “Can you finish tying my skates? Please? All my friends are already on the ice.” 

Osamu, Komori, and Suna break into laughter, laughing harder when Atsumu and Sakusa round on them in tandem, twin glares on their faces. 

“Sorry, kid,” Osamu says, wiping a tear from his eyes. “These two are kinda useless but Suna here will help ya with those laces.” He gives Suna a shove in the kid’s direction then grabs onto the back of Atsumu’s collar at the same time that Komori grabs onto the back of Sakusa’s. 

“Argh! Samu!” 

“Shut up and stop fightin’ me. Yer scarin’ the kids. Put on yer own damn skates and get out there Mr. and Mr. Instructor.” Osamu sighs, watching the two of them stumble toward the door, not a lick of grace between the two of them. 

Komori shakes his head. “Real piece of work.” 

  
  


'Learn to Skate' classes, regardless of which one, are split up by level. Each track offered under the 'Learn to Skate' program is made up of 1-8 levels, each with a set number of skills that skaters have to successfully complete in order to move into the next level. 

Sakusa, like many kids, learned to skate through the 'Learn to Skate' program. He has fond memories of his 'Snow Plow Sam' days. But how and why Meian expects him to teach a 'Learn to Skate' class _now_ is beyond him. 

He glances around the ice. There are far more qualified people here than him. Most of the figure skating club is here—Ennoshita, Oikawa, Kiyoko. And that’s not even including all the people he doesn’t recognize or know the names of. 

“Alright guys—er—kids, let’s do roll,” Atsumu says, fumbling with the clipboard Meian hastily shoved in their hands right before the start of class. He’s nervous, Sakusa is sure of it but he can’t work out why. Atsumu has represented the whole country at international competitions and yet he’s scared shitless by a couple of kids. It’s kind of endearing. 

“Maia? Yep. Alright, uh, Shoma?” Atsumu continues, stammering his way through the list of names—Rika, Marin, Satoko. Meanwhile, Sakusa corralls all of them into their assigned corner of the rink and walks them through their warm up. 

With attendance taken care of, Atsumu tosses the clipboard to the side and claps with as much force as he can muster to counteract the dulling effect of the gloves. 

“Alright, let’s—” 

“Miya!” Sakusa hisses. 

“What?” Atsumu throws his hands up in the air. “I haven’t even taught anything yet and yer already on my case!” 

“The lesson plan is on the clipboard!” 

“Well, I don’t need the lesson plan! I already know how to skate. Teaching these kiddos will be nothing. Relax.” 

“Know that if there weren’t 5 children under the age of 10 around us right now, I would T-H-R-O-T-T-L-E you.” 

“Omi-kun! Scandalous! Not in front of the ki—!” 

“Uh—” one of the kids raises their hand, interrupting Atsumu. “You guys we know we can spell, right?” 

Sakusa glares. Under normal circumstances, Sakusa’s glare is more than enough to send anyone running, but it hasn’t worked on Atsumu in years, to his chagrin. 

“I will end you.” 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Omi-kun.” 

“Focus, Miya!” 

“Whatever ya say, Omi-kun. Alright, kiddos, let’s start with my favorite—some good old-fashioned backwards wiggles.” 

Atsumu demonstrates the proper technique, twisting his hips from side to side, his arms and shoulders twisting in the opposite direction. “And remember, the most important part is to keep yer feet in the reverse pizza position. Otherwise you’ll start doing forwards wiggles and forwards wiggles ain’t a thing.” 

“Reverse pizza position?” Sakusa quirks a brow and shoots Atsumu an incredulous look. 

“Are ya too cool for the reverse pizza, Omi-kun? How lame of ya.” 

Sakusa is more than ready to deck Atsumu right there on the ice—he _is_ a hockey player after all—but before he can finish weighing the pros and cons of decking Atsumu in front of a bunch of a kids there is a cacophony of shrieks and giggles. 

Before Atsumu can ask what’s going on, Ennoshita is shutting off the kid’s Spotify channel and waving his attendance clipboard wildly in his other hand. “Alright people, time to get off the ice. We have to wait for Meian to get back and resurface the rink.” 

“Wow, such a shame,” Atsumu sing-songs. “Don’t you agree Omi-kun?” 

Sakusa shoots him a glare but doesn’t say anything as he starts herding the kids toward the door. It’s a cute sight—like a giant mama duck herding its ducklings to safety. Or maybe it would be cute if it were anyone other than Sakusa Kiyoomi but, alas, Atsumu isn’t that lucky. 

“Hey.” Atsumu grabs the back of Oikawa’s shirt as he’s drifting toward the exit. “What’s—stop screaming—” Oikawa flails and keeps screeching. Atsumu yells louder. “What’s goin’ on?” 

“Haven’t you heard? Did you miss all the horrified screams? A kid peed on the ice again and Meian isn’t here to resurface the ice so—” Oikawa points finger guns toward the rink exit. “—you know what that means. We get let off the hook early today. Ooohh, do you think I’ll be able to convince Iwa-chan to get ice cream?” He sighs. “Yeah, I could really go for some ice cream.” 

Atsumu wrinkles his nose. This is an ice rink, not a public pool. Not that anyone should pee in a public pool either, but that’s besides the point. How the fuck does this keep happening? 

“Ew, agai—'' he's cut off by a loud beeping. It's the Zamboni, the machine used to resurface and clean up the ice, backing up and gliding onto the ice. 

Wait. Hold up. 

Atsumu turns slowly. “hUH? Didn't you say Meian isn't here?”

Oikawa swallows and nods his head. 

“If Meian isn’t here and no one else can operate it, then _who_ exactly is driving the Zamboni?” Atsumu knows in his gut there is only one bastard in this rink chaotic enough to attempt resurfacing the ice with absolutely no training but refuses to acknowledge this fact until he sees it with his own eyes.

Oikawa squints, trying to figure out who is manning the zam backing out at the other end of the rink. “Could it be—?” 

Atsumu says a silent prayer, still holding onto fragile hope that maybe he is wrong. 

Atsumu follows his line of sight. “Nah, can’t be. They wouldn’t let _him_ onto the zam.” 

His worst nightmare comes true. 

Sitting atop the zam is none other than Komori Motoya, his trademark maniacal grin slapped across his face. There’s only one way this can end—badly.

And boy, oh boy, does it end badly.

The locker room is a dark, dank place. Mere mortals cannot pass through its smelly walls without adequate preparation lest they don’t make it out the other side. Only the hockey teams are safe, protecting themselves not only with several layers of protective padding but also in a thick cloud of Axe Body Spray. It’s disgusting, yes, but to Sakusa, it’s also home. 

It’s here in this dingy, godforsaken place, that the rest of the hockey team learns of the horrible outcome of yesterday’s 'Learn to Skate' class. 

Sakusa slams his fist against his locker, the door swinging shut with a slam that echoes throughout the sweaty, dank locker room. “Well!” he throws his hands into the air. “He’s finally done it. He’s driven me, _literally,_ to my wits end.” He falls onto the bench with a _thunk_.

“Who?” Yaku, the team’s goalie asks. “Atsumu?” 

Sakusa grimaces. “No, Miya drove me to my wits end years ago.”

“Then who?”

“My own cousin, _Motoya_.” Sakusa growls, shaking an angry fist to the sky. “The consequences of his actions...they’re so awful, I can’t even say it out loud.”

Yaku rolls his eyes. Sakusa is the only one in this rink who can rival even Miya Atsumu’s theatrics. “Huh?”

Sawamura, the team’s captain, sighs like he’s Atlas bearing the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. His eyes are weary and distant, reliving the incident in question in his head. Sawamura looks into the distance like he’s the only sensible character in a sitcom. “Komori caused, uh, some trouble.”

“What happened?” 

“I lost sight of him for 3 minutes. It only took 3 minutes for Komori to set a fucking Zamboni on fire _while_ driving it.”

“The rink is holding an ice show to help cover the cost of a new one and because Komori _is_ the one who set it on fire in the first place—don’t ask me how—the hockey team has to help raise the money for a new one.” 

Sakusa groans, internally chanting, _I love my cousin. I_ **_love_ ** _my cousin. I love my_ **_cousin_ ** _._

Ah, fuck it. “Motoya is dead to me.” 

Across the rink, the same news is received with the same cheery revelries. 

“You have to be fucking kidding me.” Atsumu yanks his team sweatshirt over his head. “Sakusa Kiyoomi? In my ice show?” 

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Suna says. “But it’s more likely than you think.” 

“Please, oh universe, let this be a dream. A terrible dream. I can’t face this reality.” 

It’s been a long, _stressful_ morning. He spent hours working through the new footwork for his short program this season. This is the last thing he needs to hear. And on top of that, no one else even seems bothered by this revelation. Is he the only one concerned with the fact that Sakusa Kiyoomi and the entire hockey team are going to be in the annual ice show? 

“Did you see the flaming zam or...?” Oikawa tugs off his right skate then the left. “You were standing right next to me when it happened.” 

“How the hell can ya miss a zam _that’s on fire_ , yes, I saw the flaming Zamboni!” 

“If you saw it, then why are you so surprised? The new one has to be paid for somehow.” 

“So Komori fucking Motoya set the zam on fire‚ wait, how did that even happen?” 

Suna shoves his shoes on then leans forward so his elbows are balanced on his knees. “Listen to me,” Suna says like he’s talking to a 5 year old and not a fully grown adult. “I know you were too distracted by your big gay crush on Sakusa Kiyoomi to notice but you were there, Atsumu.” 

“Huh?” 

Suna pinches the bridge of his nose. “That day the kid peed on the ice—which was literally only yesterday, by the way. You were there when—” 

“Alright so, Komori, the dumpster fire human, set actual fire to the Zamboni, and now I have to share my ice show with Sakusa fuckin’ Kiyoomi.” 

“News flash, asshole,” Suna says. “It’s not your ice show. Not everything is about you.” 

Atsumu growls and goes back to untying his skates. He’s not sure what outrages him more: the situation itself or that no one else seems as outraged as him by this turn of events. 

The first day of ice show season is supposed to be _fun._ Growing up, Atsumu _lived_ for the first day of ice show season. Takeda and Ukai would announce the theme of that year’s show and then walk them through the show numbers before assigning roles. Atsumu was always thrilled to know what part he’d be skating. 

This year, though, he’s equal parts horrified and embittered by the prospect of sharing the ice show with the hockey team. It's supposed to be fun, the best day of the year, but now he has to share with the entire damn hockey team. Osamu says he just sounds a little salty but who wouldn't be? 

He tries—he really tries—to keep that salt hidden deep inside him as Takeda and Ukai, the directors of the figure skating program, announce this year's ice show theme with the entire cast and crew huddled around them in the middle of the rink. However, it’s _difficult_ with Sakusa Kiyoomi standing only a few feet away glaring at him every 3 minutes. 

"Alright, are you guys ready to hear this year’s show theme?” 

The crowd cheers. Well, _some_ of the crowd cheers. The hockey team is remarkably silent save for the small cheer Sawamura gives. It does not go unnoticed by Atsumu. At least he can count on Sawamura even if the rest of the hockey team fails him. If the team is going to take over _his_ show the least they could do is show a bit of enthusiasm. 

“I’m sure you’ve noticed we have some newcomers here with us today,” Takeda says, arm outstretched toward the huddle of hockey players filling up half the circle of skaters. “Typically our shows have a few hockey players do some trick skating here and there but it’s rare we have so many. I expect all of you—” He gestures to the group of teenaged and adult skaters crowded in the back—Atsumu, Suna, Oikawa, Ennoshita, Kita, Aran, and others. “—to help them learn the ropes.” 

They’re in his ice show _and_ he has to help them? 

“Ow!” Atsumu jumps. “Suna, did ya just pinch me?” 

Suna grins. “You were about to say something stupid, I could feel it. This was to protect us all.” 

“I was not!” 

Suna raises his brows. “So you weren’t about to groan about you-know-who?”

“Ah, fuck off, Sunarin.” 

“Ah-hem!” Takeda says. “If you’re done, I’m sure you’re all dying to learn what this year’s show theme is.” 

A cheer erupts.

“Excellent, that’s what we like to hear.” 

Rehearsals start off about as well as Atsumu could have imagined. That’s to say, terribly. Half the hockey players are assigned off-ice jobs like prop construction and costume making but the other half are on the ice for more than half of the show numbers. And, of course, one of those on ice hockey players just _has_ to be Sakusa Kiyoomi. There is no way this could be any worse. It’s almost more than his poor heart can take. 

This rehearsal is particularly disastrous. Today, they are tackling the pinwheel. It’s a bitchin’ trick performed by the entire cast that takes strength, concentration, and, above all, teamwork. To absolutely no one’s surprise, it is not going well. 

The skating cast is arranged into one long line. All of the skaters in the show are here regardless of level or experience, adult skaters, seniors, juniors, even the 6 year olds in their too tiny to be real skates. 

The tallest and strongest make up the center of the line. The fastest and most agile skaters are on the outside and the younger, less experienced kiddos make up the rest of the line. Half of the line faces forward while the other half is flipped, facing the other direction. 

Ideally, the pinwheel starts with a strong, collective push off and the line rotates in a giant circle. Then, once the line has gained enough speed, the two outer quarters of the line break off into backwards crossovers to form a new line intersecting the original to form a cross shape—hence the name, pinwheel. 

“Alright, let’s give this a whirl,” Ukai shouts. 

Everyone gets into position, linking arms and locking together tight. The line pushes off. Those closest to the center aren’t doing anything more than taking small, marching steps and holding onto their partners like their life depended on it. Or that’s what they _should_ be doing. 

As everyone gets into position, Atsumu tries to focus on keeping his arms locked and feet in the right position but it’s difficult when that arm is linked with Sakusa Kiyoomi’s. Sakusa Kiyoomi’s toned, tanned—

Woah there—Atsumu shakes his head to clear it of these frankly illicit thoughts. Sakusa Kiyoomi is his enemy and there’s nothing hot about Sakusa Kiyoomi’s hockey stick wielding arm. _Nothing._

Atsumu is too distracted by Sakusa’s very _unattractive_ arm to notice that the pinwheel is falling to pieces around him. 

“Stop!” Takeda shouts. “I can’t do this. Ukai, can you—” He trails off, waving a hand incoherently at the crowd. 

Ukai rolls his eyes. “Alright, guys,” he says, level headed and calm, “the pinwheel is the essential—”

“ESSENTIAL!” Takeda shouts. 

Ukai doesn’t miss a beat. “—part of any ice show performance. We do it every year and it goes smoothly every time with no falls, trips, or slips and that _will_ happen this year too. Get back in line. Let’s try this again.” 

“This is your fault, Omi-kun,” Atsumu hisses. His left arm is linked with Sakusa and on his right is Ennoshita. “Yer gonna have to skate faster or our part of the pinwheel is gonna fall to pieces!” 

Sakusa rolls his eyes. “My fault? You were the one staring into space.”

“I can’t help it! Yer distracting me with your existence. And link yer elbows tighter! We don’t need ya flying off into left field mid pinwheel!” 

Sakusa growls something in Atsumu’s general direction but he doesn’t catch it. Unfortunately for everyone, Takeda does. And boy, oh boy, is Takeda anything but happy. After all, Atsumu, Suna, Sakusa, all of them, are supposed to be the adults here. The professionals. They’re supposed to be people the kids can look up to. But in the end, they’re just kids themselves, pulling the same shit now that they did 2, 4, 10 years ago. 

Takeda rubs his temples. Different bullshit, same headache. He can’t do this anymore. He throws his hands up into the air. “Stop! Stop!” 

The pinwheel comes to a halt. 

“What was that?” he asks, zeroing in on Atsumu and Sakusa. “Something you’d care to share with the class?” 

From the other side of the line, Sawamura groans, resigned to whatever fate Sakusa has just sealed for himself. 

“F in the chat for Sakusa and Atsumu,” Suna snickers, and Atsumu wishes they were next to each other in the pinwheel just so he can hit him a good shove in the side. 

“I’m waiting,” Takeda says with his arms crossed and eyes glaring daggers at Sakusa and Atsumu.

“Nothing,” Sakusa mumbles. 

“Is that so?” 

Atsumu nods. 

“Well, that’s a relief to hear,” he glides back over to Ukai. “Alright, I know you’re all tired. We are too. Let’s try this one more time. _If_ we get it right, then we can call it a night and head home.” 

Thank god for that.

Except, nothing is ever so easy and nothing about the day’s rehearsal goes well. After a fifth attempt at the now dreaded pinwheel, Sakusa rips away from the formation and storms off the ice. In Sakusa’s defense, it was the third time in as many minutes that Atsumu tried to correct his form. 

Suna sighs and shoots Atsumu a look that says _you’re dead to me._

 _“Me?!”_ Atsumu says silently while pointing at himself. 

“Yes, you,” says Suna. “You’re the one who pissed him off. Now go get him so we can all go home.” 

“What!? Why me?” 

“ _Atsumu._ ” 

Atsumu rolls his eyes and follows Sakusa off the ice.

Sakusa knows he’s being followed but he doesn’t have it in him to care. Sakusa heads for the locker room throwing open the door and sitting down with a huff. With any luck, he’ll get a few moments alone before Atsumu inevitably finds him. Frustration burns at the corners of his eyes, and he kind of wants to scream. Or kick something. Maybe both. 

Contrary to popular belief, Sakusa _is_ trying to understand this whole figure skating thing and do a good job. He doesn’t believe in doing things by halves, and this is no exception. Sakusa doesn’t want to embarrass himself, the rink, the skating program, or _even Miya Atsumu._

But, damn, does Miya make it difficult. It would be so much easier to _not_ care. Unfortunately, people don’t always get to decide what they care about. Sometimes it happens anyway. Fuck. Sakusa _does_ care about what Miya thinks. Isn’t that just the icing on top of the cake?

Ugh.

Sakusa gets one more moment of peace before the door to the locker room flies open, Miya Atsumu standing in the doorway. Once again, Sakusa wants to throttle him. Or kiss him. Or—

Atsumu stalks inside. “I don’t see what the big deal is, Omi-kun!” Atsumu rips the hat off his head and throws it to the ground. 

Sakusa frowns. Miya never did grow out of his flair for the dramatics. “Why are you like this?” 

“Me? Yer the one who went stormin’ off during rehearsal. And it was almost over too. But now we gotta run the pinwheel _again._ I’m not sure we’re all gonna make it out of here tonight. Sooner or later someone is gonna _snap.”_

“My bet’s on you,” Sakusa says despite himself because maybe if he just pushes a little bit more, one more nudge, then Atsumu will finally leave him alone and he won’t have to deal with these feelings or whatever the fuck is going on in his chest everytime Miya smiles in his direction. 

Atsumu groans. “Yer impossible!” He sits down next to Sakusa with a _oomf._ Atsumu deflates against the cool cinder block wall. Atsumu wrings his hands then catches himself and shoves them into his pockets instead. “Whatever happened, Omi? You used to like the ice shows.”

 _“_ Not all of us can have your penchant for theatrics.”

Atsumu makes a face. “That’s bullshit. Yer one of the most dramatic people I’ve ever met. You can’t hide from me.” 

No, he can’t. That’s part of Sakusa’s problem.

No matter where Sakusa goes, Atsumu is there, one step behind and somehow both annoying and endearing all wrapped up in one. This situation can’t get any worse.

Once again the universe makes a point to prove him wrong by reminding him that any situation can always get worse. The door flies open to reveal Suna, Komori, and—

“Samu?” 

“Shut it,” Suna says at the same time Komori says, “Don’t ask questions.” 

“What—” says Sakusa before he too gets cut off. 

“Yer both so stupid!” Osamu says. “And the rest of us are suffering from it.” 

“Until you figure your shit out—” Suna says. 

“—or kiss! Whichever comes first!” Komori says.

“—we’re locking you in here!” Suna says then Osamu slams the door shut on Sakusa and Atsumu’s shocked faces. 

Well, fuck. 

“Okay, don’t panic,” Atsumu says as soon as the door is shut. 

“I’m not panicking,” Sakusa says, and it’s the truth. 

“Right. Right. Uh-huh.” Atsumu pushes the hair off his forehead and runs his fingers through his hair. His hand drops to his neck, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Hey, Omi, is it hot in here or is it just me?” 

Sakusa blinks. “We’re in an ice rink.” 

“Right, right.” Atsumu wrings his hands. “So it’s just me, then?” Atsumu nods then nods again, and Sakusa isn’t even sure that Atsumu realizes he’s doing it. 

“Miya...” Sakusa says slowly. “You know we’re gonna be fine, right? Whether or not we—” Sakusa makes air quotes with his hands. “—figure our shit out, they have to let us out eventually.” 

Atsumu nods. “Yer sure?”

“Positive.” 

“Good. Good. That’s good.” Atsumu rubs his palms onto his pants and turns to face Sakusa. “Sorry, just got a little nervous there. So, uh, our shit? Or something?” 

Sakusa grins. “Yeah, I hear it needs worked out...or something.” 

Atsumu’s face goes beet red. It’s cute and endearing in a way that Sakusa can’t quite put a finger on. “I’m, uh—” Atsumu rubs the back of his neck and looks at the ground. “I’m sorry for yellin’ out there, on the ice, I mean. I’m sure ya won’t believe me and I can’t blame ya, but I wasn’t trying to be an asshole out there.” 

“Oh,” Sakusa says, surprised. “I knew that.” 

“Huh?” 

“I knew you weren’t trying to be an asshole.” 

“Then why did ya run off? I thought I finally pushed ya too far or something.” 

“I left because I was overwhelmed. I’m not trying to fuck it up.” 

“Oh,” Atsumu says as he leans against the wall. “Yeah, I suppose the pinwheel would be pretty overwhelming if ya haven’t done it before.” 

Sakusa lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Yes, exactly.” 

“Alright, so that’s worked out, right?” 

Sakusa nods then says, “That isn’t all we have to work out, you know that, right?” 

Atsumu groans. “Ugh, I know. I’m not good at this shit, you know?” 

“Atsumu,” Sakusa says. The name tastes a little funny in his mouth. But not in a bad way. It’s nice. Like a breath of fresh air after a particularly long winter.

“Do you remember why we’re sworn mortal enemies?” Sakusa asks. 

Sakusa has given this a lot of thought over the past few weeks, and he’s come to the conclusion that he can’t remember what went down all those years ago that led them to where they are right now, grown adults locked in a feud that spans over a decade now. 

Atsumu shakes his head and Sakusa can’t help but laugh. Neither of them know. Neither of them remember what it was that pissed off the 8-year-old in them enough.

“Fuck, Atsumu, I can’t remember either.” 

“Wait—” A grin tugs at Atsumu’s lips. “—are ya tellin’ me that we’ve been fighting all this time for _nothing_ —teaching those kids, working on the ice show, nearly knocking over trophy cases—all of it was for nothing?” 

Sakusa shoots Atsumu a wicked grin. “I wouldn’t say it was for nothing.”

“Omi-kun, ya make an interesting point. Care to elaborate?” 

Atsumu scoots along the bench until there isn’t more than a few centimeters of space between them. That won’t do so Sakusa slides over too, meeting Atsumu halfway until there is no space at all between them, just Sakusa’s thigh against Atsumu’s. There’s nothing special about two thighs touching, not really. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything. So why does it feel like _something?_ A prelude. 

Atsumu gasps and then, in his most sing-song obnoxious voice, he says, “Omi-kun...are we about to kiss?” 

Sakusa shrugs, already leaning in. “I don’t know. You tell me.” 

One Month Later

“I think I need to wash my eyes out with bleach.” 

Osamu hums. “Did ya walk in on Sakusa and Atsumu—” 

Suna nods, cutting him off. “Yeah, but they were in the COSTUME CLOSET this time. That’s supposed to be my _sanctuary._ We never should have tried to help them out. I regret everything.” 

“That’s rough buddy... Ya wanna go make out in the locker room to get back at them?” 

Suna wrinkles his nose. “Ew, Osamu, I do have standards.”

“Sooo, the announcers’ box then?”

Suna smirks. “Much better.” 


	2. deleted scenes: iwaoi and sunaosa clown each other and atsumu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> can i offer you a deleted scene i'm rather fond of in these trying times??? 
> 
> ...alternatively it's my fic and i can yeet whatever extra words i have lying around into the void as i please

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for reference: [how to do a 3-turn ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H2QDZexqs1M)

[a three turn is a basic one-foot turn in ice skating. it's used in figure skating for all sorts of things including spin entries, footwork, and in the set up for jumps. hockey players also use 3-turns.]

“Iwa-chan! You promised to _never_ speak of that _terrible_ accident,” Oikawa punches Iwaizumi in the arm. “ _Remember?”_

“You sprained your ankle, dumbass. It was no big deal.”

“Wha-wh-wha-uh- no big deal!? _No big deal?_ I couldn’t skate for a month! I couldn’t jump for 3!” 

“That’s nothing, Oikawa, and you know it,” Iwaizumi says. “A lot of people are out of the game way longer than that. The embarrassing part is _how_ you did it.” 

“I smell dirt,” Suna says, grinning with his phone at the ready. “Tell me more.” 

“Iwa-chan, I swear I will end you.”

Iwazumi smirks. “It was a 3-turn.” 

Suna snorts. “A 3-turn?” 

“You’re dead to me, Iwa-chan.” 

“Wait, wait, wait, I haven’t even gotten to the best part.” 

“Zip it!” 

“He fell on the 3-turn but the _reason why_ really takes the cake. Remind me Oikawa, what did you do the day before the fall?  
Oikawa huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I ordered new skates.”

“And why did you order new skates?” 

“Because I was duct taping mine for the extra support.” 

“Because?” Iwaizumi draws out the word, leaning into Oikawa’s space to tease him. 

“No, stop,” Suna squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “I can’t hear anymore, this is just getting worse and worse. You were _duct taping_ your skates? And you thought that was _safe?”_

“Oh don’t give me that! People do it all the time when their skates start to go.”

Suna shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. Osamu always orders my new skates.”  
Oikawa scoffs and stamps his foot. “See, Iwa-chan! Osamu is a good boyfriend!” 

Iwaizumi growls and Oikawa takes off running. “I didn’t mean it Iwa-chan! You’re a great boyfriend! The best.” 

His praise does nothing to stop Iwaizumi’s rampage and in the next moment they’re both tumbling to the floor, Oikawa’s head in a headlock, Iwaizumi’s knuckles digging into his scalp. “Shittykawa, I swear.” 

“I take it back Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whines. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Iwaizumi releases Oikawa from the headlock to wind an arm around his waist, pulling him in for a sweet and sloppy kiss. 

Suna wrinkles his nose. “Guys, seriously? In front of my ice?” 

“As if you and Samu aren’t just as bad,” Atsumu says. 

“As if we aren’t what?” Osamu says walking up to them, twirling his keys on one finger. 

As soon as he’s in striking range, Suna hooks a finger into Osamu’s belt loop and tugs so Osamu goes stumbling into him. Suna tilts his head to find the right angle then kisses Osamu like they’re lovers who have spent months apart.

They kiss. And kiss some more. And then keep kissing. With each second that passes Atsumu can feel part of his soul leaving his body. 

Iwaizumi whistles and Atsumu gags. Is the whole damn rink conspiring against him now? 

He steals a look at Sakusa and is surprised when instead of disgust all Atsumu finds in mild disinterest and maybe a hint of amusement. Great, even Sakusa Kiyoomi is laughing at Atsumu’s expense.

If Atsumu thought nothing could be worse than Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s near constant PDA, he was wrong. This is infinitely worse. Atsumu has no choice but to make retching noises at an increasingly louder volume until Suna finally releases Osamu from his clutches. 

Osamu stumbles backward, more than a little dazed from the sudden onslaught of Suna. He blinks, once, twice, to regain his bearings. 

“Well, hello to you too.”

Suna smiles, mouth stretched wide, sickly sweet and screaming nothing other than FAKE. But Osamu is a lovesick fool who melts anyway returning Suna’s smile with a grin of his own—crooked and stupid in love. 

Atsumu gags once more for good measure just in case they managed to miss the other 47. “Like I said, as if you two aren’t just as bad as the two of them.” Atsumu nods his head toward Oikawa and Iwaizumi. 

“Aw,” Oikawa coos, detaching himself at last from Iwaizumi to pinch Atsumu’s cheek. “It sounds like someone is jealous. You know, I’m sure Sakusa-kun would be more than happy to make you swoon. Although, no love will ever compare to me and my Iwa-chan’s.” 

Iwaizumi smacks him upside the head but it does nothing to quell Oikawa’s general awfulness that they’ve become accustomed to. 

“Ew, don’t say such gross stuff,” Atsumu says. “How the hell do ya expect me to swoon for a guy like Omi-kun anyway?” he gags again as if the sentence alone is enough to make him sick. 

Saksua grimaces and looks a little green in the face but doesn’t say anything.

“Why the hell do you guys fight so much anyway?” Oikawa says. 

Iwaizumi delivers a swift slap upside his head, “You can’t just go prying into people’s personal lives like that, Shittykawa!” 

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa rubs the back of his head. “That hurt!” 

Iwaizumi glares, silenting daring Oikawa to say it again. 

“Alright, fine, it didn’t hurt, but be more careful! You could have messed up my hair!” Oikawa turns back to them. “But for real, why the hell are you at each other’s throats all the time. Do us all a favor and go make out in a storage closet or something.” 

Atsumu chokes. Sakusa chokes. 

Suna falls to the floor in a fit of laughter. He wipes a tear. “Oh shit, he’s got you pinned.” 

“What the hell are ya talking about, Sunarin?” Atsumu scoffs. “Oikawa doesn’t know anything! Disgusting! Like I would EVER make out with Omi-kun in a storage closet.” 

Suna stops laughing and jumps back to his feet. “You wouldn’t? Tell me, Atsumu,and be honest, would you really _never_ make out with Sakusa Kiyoomi in a storage closet?” Suna smirks like he knows something Atsumu doesn’t. “Or the announcers booth? Or maybe the locker room no one uses because it’s definitely haunted?” 

Atsumu swallows. “Shut up, Sunarin.” 

Suna smirks. “Hmm, interesting. You know, Atsumu, you’re a terrible liar.” 

It doesn’t matter if Suna is right or not because Atsumu would sooner die than admit that Suna Rintarou is right about anything. 

Besides, Suna is 100%, verifiably wrong. Atsumu does not want to make out with Sakusa Kiyoomi in a storage closet, the announcers' booth, the locker room or anywhere else for that matter.

“Yeah, yeah,” Oikawa says, waving a hand. “Whatever you say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, this is just me projecting my injury and idiocy onto oikawa

**Author's Note:**

> pancakesurprisd on [twitter](https://twitter.com/pancakesurprisd)
> 
> ...everything down to the kid peeing on the ice is something i've seen in a rink (minus the flaming zamboni...although that has happened elsewhere)
> 
> Cast & Crew: 
> 
> -Unending Emotional support: Nat, Nae, Togaki, Bea (corntsumu), Xavi, Heart   
> -Beta readers who literally walked into a hellscape when this fic made absolutely no sense: Heart, Yna, Cyn, Bea (Cornstumu), Aya, Nat, Su, T, Minty, Ally, Mikee, and Nic   
> -Commas: Nat, Nae, Togaki, Xavi, Carol, and Aya (I swear I'm trying to get better at commas...)  
> -Playing god on the gdoc: Xavi and Nae  
> -Betaing a fic that made slightly more sense but still was a whole lotta ???: Nae, Heart, Nat, Bea, Marita   
> -Ice rink politics consultant: Marita   
> -Betaing last minute when I was terrified Eve wasn't going to like the story: Carol   
> -Cheer squad: thank you Jul for commenting on almost all my *this fic is going to k-word me* tweets with cheery support, phooey, and *blows kiss to the sky* for the sunaosa gay gdm/server  
> -Also, a few other people offered to look at this fic but I got too caught up in the fic and kept forgetting to dm you guys...I appreciate you so much though like you have no idea how much it means to me that you were willing to help me out: Quinn, Jennie, Val, Carina, Luna, and Xin
> 
> AND FINALLY 
> 
> THE GREMLIN THAT LED TO THIS FIC'S CREATION: Eve <3 
> 
> the idea for this fic came from a random string of tweets via which eve rolled up to my dms and bullied me into writing it. I sent Eve a few snippets that I wrote on the spot while she was stuck at work and then worked on the fic on and off for a couple of months (BTW WOULD NOT RECOMMEND WRITING THAT WAY). ANYWAY I'm really glad to have met Eve and in the end it was only that thought that kept me writing this fic. 
> 
> okay goodbye thank you for reading!


End file.
